


A Little Out of the Ordinary

by fictionalwritings09



Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalwritings09/pseuds/fictionalwritings09
Summary: A collection of short stories containing romance and/or smut about monsters, humans, and sometimes both.(Some stories may be longer than others and need multiple chapters.  If they get too extensive, I’ll move them to its own fic and just link it to this collection as a part of a series.)
Relationships: Addie/Lorn
Kudos: 1





	A Little Out of the Ordinary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel of Death (Addie) and Graveyard Demon (Lorn)
> 
> Tags: Friends with Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, MXF
> 
> Summary: Lorn the Graveyard Demon finds that, despite their contradictory natures and his stubborn denial, he holds a special affection for a particular Angel of Death. The question that haunts him is...does she feel the same?

A cold, gray sky. Dim, gloomy light filtering through morose low-hanging clouds and a measly sprinkle of humid, miserable rain. Rows of stone and marble tombstones, some in disrepair and others polished and new, nestled in patches of grass and wandering weeds. A quiet, unmoving mass of stiff black suits and dresses, surrounding a closed casket waiting to descend into the grave dug so neatly below it. 

The usual backdrop to a funeral at North Avery Cemetery.

**“Dearly beloved...”**

The usual words spoken, practiced but no less sincere, from a man of the cloth.

**“We gather here today to commend our brother, Gregory Hawthorne, to God our Father and to commit his body to the earth.”**

The usual sounds - sniffling sobs and pang-filled sighs.

**”We read in sacred Scripture...”**

The funeral attendees surrounding the casket bow their heads one by one, solemnly listening to the passages read by the priest, until only a few remained upright. Rude, perhaps, but no one cared to notice for, peculiarly, no one could see them. Just shadowy figures that hovered and loomed, their bodies resembling that of a human’s, though thin and lanky and terribly too tall. Their heads are an entirely different matter: moss-covered stone or rotted wood, in the shape of broken tombstones and forgotten crosses. Nearly all of the creatures’ features are worn and faded, rubbed out words and etchings fallen away due to disrepair or simply damage from time and rain. Just as the living surrounded the dead, the supernatural beings with their too-tall bodies and misshapen heads circled the humans unseen.

Their purpose? To feed on the misery and suffering, the tragedy and grief - the main source of nutrition for a Graveyard Demon, and the air about Mr. Hawthorne’s funeral is thick with the very stuff of it.

None of the demons knew how they came to be, not entirely, but the best and oldest theory came in the form of redemption. That, as humans, they had done something so horrible, caused so much heartache in some way that their punishment was to absorb it themselves and to unburden the living. After all, a graveyard demon does not feed and go about their business once all is done - they feel every heart-wrenching sob, each hot tear rolling down the cheek, and remember the living’s hardest regrets during their feeding. It makes them anguished, disgusted, foul, and ultimately empty except for the utter despair wracking their bodies and minds.

And in their desperation to feel anything else, to feel something other than the soul-crushing sadness, that often times the demons would gather and comfort each other in carnality, lending more credit to the belief that they’d once been human.

Gregory Hawthorne’s grieving friends and family are lucky - they would leave the funeral with some closure, remembering the good over the bad, and wouldn’t realize that they’d been dinner for a crowd with bad taste. Nor the orgy of demons that would desecrate the woods nearby thereafter.

Except for one. _Lorn_.

Standing a fair distance away from the crowd and watching among the eroding tombstones as his brethren devoured their fill, the seven-foot tall demon watches as purple miasma rises - emotional pain incarnate - and pulled into the reluctant otherworldly onlookers. He wants to look away, his head a crumbling slate-grey gravestone with a single flaming yellow-green eye at the center looking on with a small amount of disgust and pity. However, his soul gnaws itself at the pit of his very being in hunger. He’d missed the last few days, content to starve rather than subject himself to the ritual, and now he’s paying for it. And drawing undue attention.

”Lorn...”

A gentle voice, weak and slimy, beckons him to turn around. Lorn knows who the voice belongs to and refuses to take the bait, opting to stare forward instead. It’s only when he feels a creeping hand up the back of his thigh does he turn and recoil, hissing instinctually.

”Looorn...don’t be like that...” another graveyard demon purrs softly, crawling on the ground towards him between the markers of the dead like some lizard searching for prey, “Come...eat...I know you’re hungry...and when you’re all done, I’ll be here to comfort you...~”

Lorn’s face cracks slightly in a cringe, tucking a heeled foot away from the grasping black claws, preferring to huddle like a gargoyle on a large stone cross out of reach. He gives another hiss with his black tail tipped in a neon green flame whipping about in warning. Among all the graveyard demons in the North Avery Cemetery demons, Agon the Crippled is unanimously considered the worst, often found crawling about on all fours due to his back having grown twisted and warped. He’d been separated from the group due to leaving his partners broken and wounded for days, too sadistic and violent to be considered normal. The rest of the demons are able to scare the crawling, crooked wretch away in numbers, leaving Agon only able to find partners among the stragglers and outliers.

And unfortunately, Lorn - one of the prettier graveyard demons with broad shoulders, a slim waist, and long legs that stretched for miles, his naked hide all adorned in black-green patterned elegance - would be a rare treat for the repulsive, lonely Agon.

“I’d rather starve to death than have you touch me,” Lorn’s claws extend menacingly into his perch as his pupil shrinks to a dangerous sliver, “Leave, or I call the others.”

Agon twists his head, a stump of burned tree with gnarled roots and a trio of fleshy yellow eyes peeking out from bottom. His claws dig into the ground, as if intending to launch himself at Lorn, but he spits from under his roots, streaking the ground with an oozing purple slime trail in defiance.

“I’m watching you, Lorn...you need to eat...and you’ll need to fuck,” he breathes in a lecherous wet rattle, “And when you do - “

”It won’t be you,” another voice booms behind Agon in stern warning, and the cowardly demon jumps a foot off the ground in surprise.

When he falls back into the muddy grass with a slap, his rotting stump attempts to crane back to look at the owner of the voice.

”Rema! I-I-I didn’t see you there,” Agon stutters nervously, “Y-You look g-good - _eek_!”

Agon squeals as a large hoof attempts to squash him, skittering off quickly like a lizard to avoid any more harassment from the demon. Rema snorts with a fierce look, his head in the shape of a rectangular, steel grey-granite slab with a few words still readable at the bottom - “ _Semper Fidelis_ ”. Larger than most of the other graveyard demons and naturally protective, Rema became the de-facto leader when he arrived at the cemetery one day. Lorn often saw him in the center of the orgies and keeping an eye out for other outcasts like Agon. It also doesn’t hurt that Rema’s attractive in his own right, possessing a rare red-orange coloring that streaked over his torso like a tiger and having tight, solid muscles in all the right places.

”You all right, Lorn?” Rema extends his claw to Lorn, helping him down.

”Yeah...thanks Rema,” he responds gratefully, but pauses when he feels Rema’s claw pull him into the larger demon’s embrace, “...Rema...come on, don’t.”

The soft rejection is met with a low sigh and Rema releases the smaller demon reluctantly.

”You’re not still waiting for that... _angel_...are you? How long has it even been since you fed?” Rema grumbles low, a casual brush of his knuckle touching Lorn’s slick, velvet black shoulder, “How long has it been since you’ve been... _comforted_?”

Shrugging the touch off, the starving creature scoffs nonchalantly and steps back just a bit to keep his distance.

“She said she’d be back. She had to help out with another death from out of the area, but she’ll be back soon.”

Rema’s right, though, much to the Lorn’s dismay. The hunger is starting to set in. And inevitably, he’ll overeat to compensate for the missing days, practically ravenous for company when he’s done. What’s worse is that it’ll leave an opening for a persistent Agon, and Lorn can’t help but shudder at the thought.

“You’re being stubborn,” the larger demon sighs tiredly, scrutinizing his charge with a discerning pair of red eyes, “...If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want to be comforted by her, and her alone.”

Lorn freezes in place before turning to Rema, hissing.

“No I don’t,” he replies almost too quickly.

”Then feed and come join the orgy. The others would be happy to have you,” Rema pushes, but Lorn looks away hesitantly, glancing at a nearby willow tree, “...Lorn?”

Something heavy sits in the smaller creature’s stomach, weighing him down at the thought of someone other than _her_ touching him. It’s not out of any sort of feeling of attachment...surely not. If he really is feeling this way, that would imply that there are...”special feelings” involved. And Lorn’s pride wouldn’t tolerate it.

”I just don’t feel like it,” he responds flippantly, retreating from Rema’s advances, “Not in the mood.”

”Unless it’s with her?“

Lorn whips back vehemently, seething at the notion.

”Don’t put words in my mouth, you son of a - !“

”All right, all right,” Rema holds his claws up in surrender, watching the smaller demon worriedly, ”I’m only saying this for your own good, Lorn. Just come back. Waiting for her is only going to make you weak and vulnerable, and I can’t protect you out here - I’ve got a responsibility to the others, too.”

”Then protect them,” Lorn turns away again, getting atop another gravestone with a few wet squeaks of his heels on rain-soaked stone, “I’ll be fine on my own. I always am.”

Lorn flicks his tail nonchalantly, as if waving Rema off, and the orange demon shakes his head. Black granite dust drifts through the air as he leaves Lorn to his brooding and waiting, disappearing into the throngs of writhing black bodies at the edges of the forest. For a brief second, Lorn considers looking back, but a gentle breeze moves through the air, lifting the willow tree branches in the distance and his attention is drawn to it once more.

It was... _is_ their special place. She promised she would return there when her business is done.

But that was three days ago...

Lorn checks to make sure Agon hadn’t returned before letting go of the cross, running swiftly to the sheltered tree, encircled by a barely-there shimmer of light. There’s a moment when he passes through the thin, but powerful veil of holy light, and he feels a slight jolt like every fiber of his soul is expanded, opened and inspected. The first time he’d experienced it, there was a strong sense of something perverse in him being there, that he didn’t belong. It subsided, however, just as it does now, the barrier finding him suitable and letting him pass without pain. Feeling much more comfortable, Lorn drops at the base of the tree into a clutch of clean, downy white feathers cushioning the ground.

A safe place. A quiet place. Even a private place, which is hard in a graveyard full of other demons that roamed to and fro endlessly.

Stroking the soft bedding the angel left him, Lorn ponders on the peculiar relationship he finds himself in.

* * *

Several months had already gone by since they first met, a chance encounter in which Lorn had been feeding just like the others on any other gray, gloomy day. A somber crowd, grieving and crying, and full of fresh misery to absorb. However, there had been an outlier to the supernatural frenzy - a frail ghost of an old woman and the Angel of Death who guarded and watched over her. 

Many dearly departed often requested their reapers for one last wish - the most common being to say goodbye to their family and friends - so angels weren’t so uncommon a sight. They often came dressed in stark white robes, with a variety of wings, and gigantic. Lorn wasn’t anything to sneeze at with his 7’2” height, but the shortest one he’d seen still towered over him at 9 feet. And considering their reputation for never failing to deliver their charges to their destinations, whether the souls wanted to or not, whether another supernatural or otherworldly force were to interfere or not, it seemed that their size certainly played into their guardian-like, stony attitudes.

Lorn couldn’t remember the name of the ghost, the dearly departed whose funeral he sourced his meal from, but he remembered watching the dead woman attempting to touch one of the living. And as usual, for any dead soul who tried to reconnect with their loved ones, her hand passed through the solid fabric and flesh. Agony oozed from the poor woman, and as she sank to her knees in despair, Lorn was quick to switch his attention from the living to the ghost.

He had given it a half-thought to maybe feed from her instead - to replace that sadness with nothingness. Angels of Death never seemed to care beyond fulfilling their duties as neutral deliverers between Heaven, Hell, and Earth, so he began to approach them.

And yet...something completely unexpected happened. _The Angel of Death kneeled._

In all of his own years of haunting the cemetery, Lorn had never seen such a sight. Solid, stone-like entities, impassable and ironclad in their beliefs and roles in the Circle of Life, they would sooner bow to the cosmic end of the universe than kneel of their own free will.

Still, the voluminous white robes stained in mud and grass and her huddled figure was plainly evident.

Slim hands dressed in pearlescent silk held the shaking shoulders of the ghost, as if she tried to hold the sobbing creature together by sheer force. Not crushing her, but just simply...holding her. Lorn watched the abnormal interaction in stunned silence. Then, she seemed to notice him - her four gargantuan wings that floated freely from her shoulders also had eyes inlaid in the joints, aquamarine and piercing as they stared.

 _“...Shhh...”_ she shushed gently, and Lorn started for a second as though she were talking to him instead, _“I have you...you are not alone. And you are loved. See the ones who’ve gathered for you.”_

The tenderness in the angel’s voice struck a chord deep in Lorn’s soul, something so alien and different to the misery and the emptiness he’d grown accustomed to. And for whatever reason - perhaps because of the feathered guardian’s goodwill or the human reminding him of something he’d long forgotten - Lorn decided to feed on the misery that rooted the elderly spirit in her place. He approached them again, quietly and creeping gingerly as he kept his eye on the ethereal pair. When the Angel of Death sharpened her gaze on him, Lorn dipped his head to show he meant no harm.

 _”I can help her,”_ the demon whispered respectfully, and it took a few seconds before the angel relaxed and she removed one of her hands from the woman’s shoulder.

Lorn crept a little closer and smoothed his slick black claws against the cold skin of the old woman’s ghost, cringing as he absorbed the heartache and sorrow. It felt like he couldn’t breathe as his chest started to wrack with sobs of his own. There was the pain of the human leaving her children and grandchildren, of the wheelchair-bound husband who was still living without her, and the regrets that she never got to release. Desperation to escape the despair started to fill him, and the black and flaming green Graveyard Demon turned to run away towards a potential partner.

_”...Thank you.”_

Gentle, sweet, and melodic. The Angel of Death had thanked him, and the sound of her voice tinkled up and down his spine until it settled in his burning gut. He shivered and turned his gravestone head for just a few moments to look at her. That was the moment that he knew he’d made a mistake. That was the moment he saw the impossibly-soft plush lips, colored like the orange-pink of a barely-there beautiful sunset, curved in the most sultry smile he’d seen. And in his lust that only just began to lick at his entire being, his eye traveled down, down, down to trace the gorgeously voluptuous figure that couldn’t be hidden by the robes. Oh how he’d made a mistake.

Then Lorn ran. After all, angels never mingled with demons, much less comforted them in the way his devilish thoughts were screaming. He buried himself in the orgy, surrendered himself to sexual oblivion, and hoped that by the time he came back up for air with a sane mind that she would be gone.

But she wasn’t.

He found himself looking for her from then on, not for any particular reason, but he supposed it was out of curiosity. A strange nagging feeling that wouldn’t leave him. And to his surprise, it was only for a few days before she came by for another visit. Lorn found her immediately after seeing a particular light pierce through the clouds, and saw her escorting another elderly soul. When he popped up just a few feet away next to the funeral, she recognized him and smiled that unfortunately-beautiful smile that he couldn’t quite ignore. The slick, slightly sweaty demon rolled his eye when she made the first move and allowed the ghost some private time, opting to talk quietly off to the side with Lorn instead.

And just as he’d feared, however, the lingering, nagging feeling didn’t end there - rather, speaking to her only worsened it.

Initially, she was extremely formal and reserved in her manner, preferring to keep her words short and sweet. It was almost mesmerizing how such a giantess of an angel could be so soft-spoken. As time went on, and another month passed, the Angel of Death - to which Lorn had shortened to “Addie” in their budding friendship - began to let her guard down and became more playful with him. Behind those plush lips and the lacy white veil that covered her face from the top to just above the bridge of her nose, Addie showed a caring side that was extremely rare for her kind. When he wasn’t feeling up to discussing his business, she’d regale him with her day instead, distracting him from the emptiness and, sometimes, the wounds of an aggressive orgy. She would even be silent if the mood wasn’t right for conversation, and they would watch the sky as it changed different hues and stars.

After another month, Lorn finally admitted that she was...rather good company. He didn’t care for her - no, of course not, dear _Satan_ never - but she made things less dreary to say the least, and downright lovely the most.

However, their friendship did have its temptations.

Addie’s lips were positively mesmerizing, for one thing, and her voice tended to drawl in a soft, sinfully-sweet way that made his clawed feet curl in delight. The more time he spent with her, though, the more things he came to notice and become distracted by. Her white alabaster wings, for instance, had soft fluffy tufts in the joints that she couldn’t quite reach by herself, but upon an accidental touch, Lorn found them sensitive enough to make her moan. The low, 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to anyone who read this before it was finished - my dumb ass posted it and I don’t know how to yoink it back into the WIP-womb.
> 
> That being said, assuming anyone’s seeing this message after the chapter is finished, if you’d like to see more of these two, or any characters introduced here, please let me know! I always like to hear feedback and eager to improve.
> 
> I’m also open to suggestions! I can’t guarantee that I’ll get to all of them, but any of the suggestions that I do decide to use - I’ll give a shout-out to!


End file.
